Suddenly, she pressed her lips upon his. That bottom lip was even better than she’d imagined. John smiled. He tightened his grip on her hair, keeping her prisoner as he deepened their kiss. When he eased her mouth open, John slipped his tongue inside. He leisurely explored her mouth before lightly licking her lips.
It’s wonderful, Cate thought blissfully. They inelegantly staggered back onto the bed, still locked together.
She giggled when they landed on the soft mattress. Her husband, thick and toned, tall and strong, pressed her down into the tangle of bedding.
Tilting her head back, Cate wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him onwards.
Never had such a kiss consumed her. It lit her skin on fire, burning her innards and exciting her mind. Never had she wanted the inevitable consequences of a kiss more.
“God, I want to.” His voice was thick with desire. How she longed to tell him he could. She hoped her wandering hands and featherlike kisses told him everything. He kissed her deeply but pulled away from her. “We must wait, Cate.”
Chapter Three
John lay stillin the morning light. His new wife was curled up next to him. Her gentle breathing soothed him. It had been a mistake to continue kissing her, to stumble as they had back into the bed, which is why he had gone no further than kissing last night. He had stopped it—as painful as it had been—because he had a plan. He hoped he could convince her to fall in love with him. Therefore, he would not have marital relations with her now.
When he’d impulsively offered to wed her, he believed no woman deserved to be used and abandoned. But he now realized he had a more complicated motivation. He had always liked Cate and enjoyed her company, but she was so far above him, a wondrous glittering blonde in high society not for the likes of him, the second son of a vicar. It hadn’t mattered that he’d secretly pined for her from afar.
Things were different now.
It didn’t matter why they were different. All that mattered was making her life as pleasant as he could.
She deserved a loving match.
How could he make his wife fall in love with him?
Turning on his side, John glanced down at the sleeping Cate, brushing a small curl off her face. She looked peaceful, angelic even, with soft, full cheeks that curved down into a rounded chin. She had a rosebud mouth. But there was strength beneathher façade. To think of what her father had put her through… And there was the looming, unspoken matter of the rake Mr. Hepworth.
John prided himself on his lack of jealousy. After all, what was the point of wishing for what could never be his? But now, as he held Cate close and watched her sleep, he wanted more. He wanted her gentle spirit, her kindly consideration, her generous heart—all she had to give. And he hated that the terrible Mr. Hepworth, through charm or calculation, might have hurt Cate.
Gently, he eased his arm out from underneath her and crept to the window.
Lyme Regis, with all of its neat little streets and architecture, lay before him. The perfect seaside town. There were thatched roofs, glistening windows, and empty flower boxes. It was almost Christmas, after all. In many ways, it was an idyllic place for romance. The problem, of course, was the steady beat of rain.
“Good morning,” Cate called. At some point, when they had ceased kissing, she had removed her traveling dress and had been prepared to sleep in her chemise. She sat up in bed. John balled his fists to stop himself from hurrying to her side. She was practically edible, all tousled and sleepy.
He would need to focus, as his time in the navy had taught him. He was not to be distracted. Winning over his wife would require careful military precision. That was his greatest skill.
“Breakfast?” he asked cordially.
*
The rain hadlessened as they meandered along the cobbled beachfront. Nonetheless, John was grateful for the hotelier’s umbrella that wobbled over their heads.
Cate grabbed the map. Over the sound of the waves and steady rain, she read aloud its directions.
“Mr. Weir informed me—”
“What?” John asked as a crashing wave landed half a foot away from them. He steered Cate away from it.
“Thank you.” She rested her free hand all too briefly on his chest before pulling back. For John, it left an imprint. He wanted more than anything to pull her closer once more. “The hotelier said Lyme Regis was mentioned in the Magna Carta.”
“As old as that.” John wished he knew what else to say to hold her attention, but before he could utter another word, someone responded derisively.
“It’s far older than that,” a woman with wild, rain-soaked hair sneered. She stood five feet away from them and resembled a terrifying bat. If it were up to John, they would have ignored her entirely, but Cate smiled encouragingly at the mad-looking woman.
“Is that so?”
“Aye.” The woman moved closer. John saw she was younger than he previously thought, possibly around Cate’s age of twenty-five or so. The woman pulled a rock from her basket. “See.” She held it up before their eyes, and John could see its strange markings.
